


hashtag holiday party

by shireness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bad dates, F/M, Office Holiday Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22009102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: This isn’t Emma’s company, or her holiday party, or her idea of a good time. Is there any good to be salvaged from the worst date ever?
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 21
Kudos: 143





	hashtag holiday party

**Author's Note:**

> A few weeks ago, the Ask a Manager blog shared the absolute greatest Christmas party disaster story... and I couldn't resist turning it into a prompt. You can find the post at: https://www.askamanager.org/2019/12/the-best-office-holiday-party-date-story-of-all-time.html
> 
> Rated T for language. Thanks to snidgetsafan, as always, for her wonderful beta-ing.
> 
> Enjoy!

Emma Swan has many regrets, but chief among them right now is agreeing to this date.

Well, no. First place on her list of regrets is awarded to going to Mary Margaret’s Christmas party, where she ended up trapped in conversation with Walsh.

(Ugh,  _ Walsh _ . Just the name should have been her clue to get the hell out of dodge when he’d spotted her across the room.)

Walsh isn’t her friend. Walsh wouldn’t even be considered  _ Mary Margaret’s _ friend, if not for the fact that the woman is friends with absolutely everyone on the planet. He’s her and David’s neighbor, and he had been in town for the holiday, and Mary Margaret’s got a soft spot the size of Maine for lost souls - it’s how she’s ended up Emma’s best friend, after all. Emma and Walsh had interacted at a few previous gatherings, and he’d been fine. No spark to speak of on her end, but whatever, she’s okay to leave it that way. But clearly,  _ he  _ felt differently, because he asked her to accompany him to his company’s holiday party. In full earshot of Mary Margaret, at that, who had gotten such an excited look on her face, obviously already planning the wedding, that Emma couldn’t actually say no. The bastard had probably planned it that way.

(Shit, she doesn’t even know what he does - marketing, maybe? She barely knows the guy, and now she’s being dragged to his holiday party.)

Emma may not be excited, but she puts on a good show at least - none of this slobbing it up to make him regret asking. She can clean up good. And besides, she’ll be shutting that all down with her words later anyways if he’s stupid enough to ask for a second date - no ploys required. The red dress is cocktail appropriate yet a little bit Christmassy, especially when paired with glittery heels, even if her makeup and hair is simple. There’s a big difference between putting in no effort at all, and knowing what just isn’t worth the effort… and anything more than a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick falls firmly into the latter category.

It’s a good thing she doesn’t too, as Walsh shows up early. Eight whole minutes early, to be precise. Not the end of the world, but not ideal either. Emma sighs heavily and braces herself before going to the door; Mary Margaret would tell her to be optimistic, but Emma just knows it’s all downhill from here.

Sure enough, as soon as Emma opens the door, Walsh clumsily whips a bunch of fake flowers out of his coat sleeve. “For you, milady,” he proclaims dramatically, offering the fake foliage. “I wanted to start with a magic trick for a  _ magical _ date and the beginning of a  _ magical _ relationship.”

And ho boy howdy, does Emma want to call it all off right now. That was the original definition of coming on too hard. That was so far beyond the bounds of acceptable first date behavior, she doesn’t even know where to go from there.

(Far, far away, and very quickly at that.) 

Mary Margaret’s voice chimes in her ear, though, talking about how it’s sweet and charming and will be a great story to tell the grandkids one day, and Emma just  _ knows  _ she’ll shake her head in disappointment if Emma reports back that she ended the date before it even started. It’s especially hard to face Mary Margaret’s big sad eyes, too, when Emma knows that her friend just wants her to be happy.

Besides, she’s been led to believe there will be an open bar at this thing, and she could go for a free drink. Probably free  _ drinks _ , plural, if the rest of this date goes the same way.

“O...kay. Okay. That’s… okay. Thank you?” Emma finally manages to stutter out, accepting his “gift”. Can’t say she’s ever received fake flowers from a guy - and can’t say she’d want to again.

“Anything for you, Emma.” His voice is about five notches too reverential for comfort. “Can I help you with your coat?”

“That’s fine, I got it.” No need to create an illusion - no pun intended - that she welcomes his attention any more than she actually does. Plus, she’s a grown woman, and it’s easy enough to slip her coat on over her dress by herself. 

If any hope had existed that this date might get better - that this might turn into the cute story to tell their future kids that Mary Margaret is probably hoping for - that hope is thoroughly squashed by the time Emma slides into her seat at the party’s venue. Walsh had circled the parking lot for fifteen minutes, refusing to accept that there was a complimentary valet service (“I just don’t understand why they’ve got whole sections of the parking lot blocked off.” “Because there’s a valet.” “It just feels like there should be more parking spots. Why isn’t there any place to park?” “ _ Because there’s a valet.” _ ). Then, he refuses to give up his coat at the coat check for too goddamn long because, as it turns out, he has all manner of other magic tricks hidden in the pockets and up his sleeves.

It is not nearly as charming as he obviously believes. 

Truthfully, it’s a relief when she and Walsh find their table, drink tickets in hand. At least at the table, there’s other people, and she won’t be forced to only focus on Walsh’s embarrassing attempts at seduction.

“Can I get you a drink?” he offers eagerly - almost too eagerly, really, practically tripping over himself.

Still, it’s an offer for a drink. And Emma’s in no place to refuse one of those, not with how she thinks this night is shaping up to go. “That’d be great, actually,” she replies, handing over her ticket. “Just some red wine please - I’m not real picky about what kind.” Anything alcoholic will do at this point. 

As Walsh trots off towards the bar, Emma turns her attention towards the rest of the table. They’re a mixed bunch of men and women who smile kindly as Emma looks about. She’s grateful for that - hopefully, Emma can use them as a distraction from whatever she’s sure Walsh will get up to.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” the pretty brunette sitting next to Emma asks. It’s the polite way of pointing out that her companion hadn’t bothered to make introductions. 

“Emma Swan,” she replies, extending a hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” she smiles back. “I’m Belle French, and this,” she gestures to the man sitting next to her, “is Killian Jones.”

“Hello, lass.” He’s a looker, to say the least - dark hair, blue eyes, charming smile. Sex on legs. Emma tries momentarily, futilely, to remind herself that she shouldn’t be checking out other men while she’s on a date, but fails spectacularly. It’s been evident since the magic flowers that she and Walsh aren’t going anywhere. 

“Hi,” she waves back. “So you both work for the company, then?”

“Oh no,” Killian laughs. “Belle’s actually a librarian. She’s just here with me.”

And damn, isn’t  _ that  _ a pity; all the good ones seem to be taken. Not that she can blame Belle - the brunette seems to be lovely, and who wouldn’t want a piece of  _ that _ ? 

(Emma doesn’t make a habit of ogling other women’s partners, but she just might make an exception for Killian Jones.) 

Emma’s about to strike up a conversation with her neighbors, hopefully learn more -  _ so what do you do here, how did you meet, is this some sort of flexible arrangement I can get in on  _ \- but Walsh returns with her drink at that moment. 

It is not in a wine glass. It is not wine. It is not what she asked for. 

“I got you a mudslide,” he explains with an eager look on his face. “I know how much women love chocolate after all!”

_ Women love wine too, especially this one,  _ Emma thinks, but accepts the drink gingerly to be polite. No sense wasting the drink ticket. “Thanks,” she responds dryly. “I’m, uh… I’m actually not a big fan of chocolate. But I’m sure it’ll be… fine.” At least it’s liquor, and at least it’s something she can nurse. He could have shown up with a fireball shot. 

“Well if you like, we can get you another drink later with -” Walsh darts a hand toward her ear suddenly, and even as Emma jerks away out of instinct, she knows exactly what’s coming. “- this!” He declares triumphantly with a coin in hand. Another magic trick. Because the first one went so well.

It’s… great.

“Huh. That’s… uh… wow. Huh.” There are no words to muddle through this with. There is only the mortification of watching a grown-ass man trying to woo her with magic tricks. “I was just getting to know some of your coworkers, actually; why don’t you introduce me?”

The rest of the table includes Walsh’s boss, Regina, and her husband Robin, and his coworker Ashley with her fiancé Sean. They’re perfectly nice, and friendly, and interesting, and Emma could almost enjoy herself talking to them - if only Walsh would ever give the magic tricks a break. He pulls handkerchiefs out of his sleeves when she reaches for a napkin, procures everything from drink tickets to miniscule flowers from a variety of places all too close to her person for comfort, and is now pulling out a deck of cards. God only knows how many magic tricks he knows with those.

“Why don’t you save those for later?” Emma suggests when he instructs her to pick a card. Without actually making it sound like a suggestion. Alright, it’s a straight-up order. In her defense, it’s been a long night. Walsh has monopolized her attention all evening with these stupid tricks and explanations of all the things they’ll do together, not even bothering to talk to his coworkers beyond the introductions Emma insisted upon. In fact, he’s grown even more insistent about it every time she’s tried to politely redirect his attention. She’s been making an effort at least - to talk about everyone’s Christmases and the baby that Ashley and Sean are expecting and Belle’s job. But it’s hard to keep any conversation going when she’s got Walsh bugging her every other moment to show her another magic trick. She hopes that the message maybe finally has gotten through with a flat refusal to engage. “Now Belle - you were about to tell us about one of the teen programs at the library?”

Unfortunately, Walsh doesn’t take that very well. In some ways, she supposes that the message to stop all the magic tricks finally did get through his thick skull - it’s just that he then stands up from the table and stalks over to the banquet hall’s piano, sitting down with a flourish. Maintaining eye contact with Emma the whole while - oh, how she wishes she hadn’t startled when he’d stood up and stormed away, wishes she had ignored him altogether - he begins to play.

“Is that Adele?” Regina asks after a moment.

Emma groans. “I’m going to need another drink.”

———

It just doesn’t make sense - how such a charming woman as Emma Swan ended up at this holiday party as the date of Walsh Ozman. Killian just can’t understand it; he has to work with Walsh every day, and he’s never been anything less than insufferable.

“I kind of got roped into it,” Emma explains, sipping on the glass of wine she’d finally procured with her second drink ticket. “My best friend is his neighbor, and we were both at her Christmas party, and before I knew it he was asking me and Mary Margaret was giving me that face she has. She’s a matchmaker - always just wants to see everyone happy and paired off. Romance is everywhere if you just look for it and all that.” She takes a long drink, nearly draining the rest of the glass. “Big crock of shit, if this is what it brings.”

He’d like to argue with her, tell her that it’s not all hopeless (if only for the very selfish reason that he’d like to show her otherwise on a much nicer date than she’s currently suffering through)... but Walsh strikes a particularly strong chord right at that moment, rendering anything Killian might try to say in poor taste. Christmas music has been piping through the room since before any of them arrived, but that doesn’t stop Walsh in the least. God, what an obnoxious prick.

“So, how did you two meet?” Emma asks, gesturing between Killian and Belle as she takes another sip, obviously trying to take her mind off the spectacle being staged in her honor across the room. 

“Killian moved into the apartment next to mine… what, three years ago now?” Belle asks, looking to him for confirmation. “Anyways, I dropped by with a tray of cookies as a little ‘welcome to the building’ gesture, and as they say, the rest is history,” she beams. 

“Of course you did,” he thinks he hears Emma mutter into the remains of her wine. Curious, that. It’s almost like she thinks… “Well, I’m happy for you two. You guys are really cute.”

Killian spares a glance at Belle before hastening to reply. “Oh, no, we’re not -”

But before he can clarify the situation - that he and Belle are just friends, no romantic spark to speak of - the distinct strains of “You’re So Vain” drift over from the piano, where Walsh wears a mournful face best suited to sad puppy dog commercials. Like this whole moment isn’t already the stuff of a terrible comedy movie.

Ashley pushes her drink tickets across the table. “I think you might need something a little stronger.”

The understatement of the century. 

———

Emma Swan ends up with a lot of spare drink tickets; everyone seems to recognize that she needs them a lot more than anyone else. With her spare drink tickets, Emma Swan procures a martini, a vodka cranberry, and two rum and cokes before anyone insists she switch to water. It’s certainly understandable that she’d want to drink her way through this utter disaster of a date. 

Walsh still plays the piano.

Killian, in turn, discovers that Emma Swan is an effusively nice drunk. She assures Ashley and Sean that they’re going to the  _ best  _ parents, and declares that Regina is both a queen and a  _ boss-ass bitch _ in a tone that makes it clear that it’s the highest compliment. Killian thinks he even overhears Emma telling Belle that she’s “an angel nurturing the minds of tomorrow so they can make the world a better place and perpetuate the power of human kindness” as he returns with her final cocktail. 

(He just might have to print off business cards with that mouthful of a title as a gag gift for Belle.)

Eventually, Walsh does tire of his dramatics and return to the table in a huff. Unfortunately, he’s very insistent that it’s time to leave. It makes sense; this party can’t have been much fun for him, despite the elaborate wallowing routine he created for himself. That means Emma has to leave too, though, and Killian will miss her bright smile and endearingly excessive compliments. There’s also the matter of how he’s not sure he trusts Walsh to take her home.

“You know what, Belle and I are about ready to call it a night too. We’ll follow you out,” he insists. Walsh’s glare only solidifies Killian’s determination to do so. “Swan, do you want to text your friend and let her know you’re on your way?”

“I  _ should _ text Mary Margaret!” Emma slurs. “Have I told you she’s an  _ angel _ ?”

“You sure did, love.”

The coat check shouldn’t result in any great debacle; it’s the coat check after all, practically just a formality. They get their coats, they go. Unfortunately, it’s Walsh, so unfortunately, that’s not the case.

“You’re like a… like a coat guard. A coat-yguard!” Emma grins as her outerwear is handed back. With clumsy fingers, she extracts a ten dollar bill from her wallet - a little excessive, most likely, but hell, she’s feeling good - and drops it into the tip jar.

Only for Walsh to snatch it right back out.

“You don’t have to pay the tip for me,” Emma insists with a stubborn set to her brows. “I’m fine to do it.” 

“Coat check is free, baby,” Walsh tells her with a patronizing tone, trying to stuff the bill into his own coat pocket. Poor taste, that, but still not nearly as poor of taste as refusing to tip.

“Yeah, that’s why you tip,” Emma insists, snatching the bill from his hand to stick it back in the jar again. 

“Don’t be stupid, that’s just a scam.” Walsh even rolls his eyes as he reaches back to the jar again.

Emma slaps his hand on the way. “You know what, you douchebag -”

“Emma would you like a ride home with us instead?” Belle interrupts, reading the situation. It’s more than for the best; Killian doesn’t trust Walsh as far as he can spit.

“Oh my god,  _ yes _ .” After Emma manages to wrestle back into her coat, she turns back to Walsh for one parting shot. “Now  _ that  _ is what a date is supposed to look like, bozo. These two? They’re hashtag relationship goals.” She even makes the symbol with her hands.

He should correct her, really, but at a certain point, it just seems best to steer Emma out of the building and into his car.

By some miracle, her building is only two blocks away from their own. Emma spends the ride in the backseat with Belle, playing with the brunette’s hair and insisting they exchange numbers. 

“You’ve been a goddamn gem, Killian Jones,” she salutes in parting as Belle leads her inside.

This night has been many things, but memorable certainly tops the list. One thing is for certain: he won’t be forgetting Emma Swan anytime soon.

——— 

Emma wakes the next day with a pounding headache, an intense feeling of humiliation, and Belle French’s number in her phone. Surely, she’s had worse nights, but it’s hard to think of any right now.

She finally manages to work up the nerve to text Belle in mid-afternoon; she definitely owes a variety of people a variety of apologies.

Emma Swan, 4:32pm:  **_hey, it’s Emma. thanks for taking care of my drunk ass last night, i’m sure i was a mess. sorry about that_ **

Belle French, 4:41pm:  _ Don’t worry about it, please! You were great, we should do something again sometime. _

Emma Swan, 4:44pm:  **_no mixing drinks, please, for the love of god_ **

Emma Swan, 4:45pm:  **_thank Killian for me too. lucky girl - he seems like a real keeper. unlike my date last night…_ **

Belle French, 4:47:  _ Will do! He’s not my boyfriend, though - we really are just neighbors. He’s like a brother to me, truly. Credit where credit is due, though - he really was a lot better than your tosser! _

Emma Swan, 4:51:  **_… oh._ **

Emma Swan, 4:51:  **_do you know if he has a different girlfriend, then?_ **

Belle French, 4:53:  _ I know for a fact that he doesn’t. Let me send you his number. _

———

She should be brave - should use that phone number to reach out and ask him to coffee or drinks or straight into a steamy make-out session. 

Emma Swan does not do any of these things.

(She  _ especially _ doesn’t tell Mary Margaret - it was already bad enough to have to relive exactly why she and Walsh won’t be having a second date, there’s no need to encourage her friend to transfer all her hopes to poor Killian instead.)

Instead, she runs into Killian completely by chance a week later, as he’s coming out of the post office and she’s walking to the coffee shop. She nearly plows him over, actually - far too focused on checking her email on her phone and not nearly enough on where she’s going.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he grins once they’ve straightened themselves out again.

“Yeah,” Emma laughs. “And sober this time, too!”

(Not one of her stronger lines.)

“A real plus for certain.” Well, at least he seems charmed.

They lapse into a silence for a moment before Emma finds the words to continue. “I just want to thank you, for being so great that night. And apologize for… everything I did. God, I was a mess that night.”

“You were in the middle of a disaster of a situation,” Killian smiles at her. 

“Yeah, well, let’s just call it a lapse in judgement and leave it at that.” Emma winces as memories of the night flick through her brain. “God, did I really make the hashtag symbol with my hands? In public?”

“You really did,” he chuckles. “I take it Belle straightened you out on the  _ relationship  _ bit of  _ relationship goals _ ?”

Emma blushes. “Yeah, she did. Definitely not mortified about that, not at all.”

“Ah, happens to the best of us, Swan.” After another silent moment, his hand steals up to scratch at the bit of neck behind his ear. “Since that’s the case, I was just wondering - well, I’d like to ask, that is, if you’re interested -”

“Do you want to get coffee with me?” Emma interrupts. She thinks that’s where he was going, anyways; she’s just a little more efficient about it.

“I’d love to, Emma.” This time, the grin stretches fully across his face and could probably outshine a whole tree’s worth of Christmas lights.

Who knows? Something good just might have come out of that god-awful holiday party date after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on tumblr, where I'm @shireness-says. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it!


End file.
